


Dark Awakening

by israfel00



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Jon Snow, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, R Plus L Equals J, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Resurrection, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, Wargs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-04-18 15:10:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14215833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/israfel00/pseuds/israfel00
Summary: The revival of Jon did not go according to plan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What if R'hllor was too late?

**Davos**

  


They gathered around the body on the table.

The shadows in the room, always thick in Castle Black, were deeper and more menacing in the low light. Davos, Edd and Tormund gathered together by the door, their eyes fixed on the Red Woman standing over the bowl of water. None of the men wanted to get closer than absolutely necessary to her - whilst her serene gaze would unnerve even the most collected man, her ability could not be denied. The stories of the snows melting, even in the current death grip of winter, during the abortive battle between Stannis' forces and the Bolton army were enough to make any man to take pause.

Davos shied away from thinking about that battle too closely - whilst he had lost his faith in Stannis, the news of his death...and more importantly, Shireen's, had left him devastated. It was little comfort that the only thing keeping him sane at this moment was the code that Stannis himself had espoused over and over. _I can go forward, only forward._ He glanced over at Edd and Tormund, who were looking skeptically at the other living human in the room. Ghost lay sprawled next to the table on which rested the Lord Commander's body. The direwolf hadn't moved from that spot since Jon had been brought in and laid on the table. Only the slow steady huffing and occasional flash of red eyes showed that Ghost hadn't followed his master into death.

  


**Melisandre**

  


Melisandre washed her hands slowly. As she looked at the body in the centre of the room, she could feel the presence of the Lord of Light flickering around her, could feel R'hllor looking over her shoulder.

Or...could she? Wasn't Stannis the Prince that was Promised? She had been so sure...so sure of everything. Stannis was the Prince that was Promised, the Kingsblood had killed the pretenders to the throne and the final sacrifice...the final sacrifice **should** have won the battle for Stannis' men. But it hadn't...and her faith had cracked. She didn't know exactly where or how to repair it...all she could do was remember the first words that had been taught in that temple, all those decades ago.

 _Because the night is dark and full of terrors. Because the night is dark and full of terrors. Because the night is dark and full of terrors_.

She could feel the stares of the men, some hopeful, some disbelieving. All desperate.

The rag slowly passed over the ruin of his chest, water slowly washing the blood away. So many wounds....the men who had done this were also desperate. Desperate enough to kill the man who was trying to fight the Night King, the unholy servant of the Lord of Darkness.

Resolutely she continued sponging the skin, until it lay gleaming and pale in the flickering firelight, looking almost like snow with the water droplets still clinging.

_These Northerners, whiter than milk to a man._

Slowly she moved to the head of the table, cutting off locks of his hair. As she started the incantation, she could feel the pulse of the room quicken, the fire blaze a little higher, the shadows fade slightly.

R'hllor _was_ here. He still watched her...and hopefully, would listen.

More hair fell towards the flame, more sparks flew. Ghost stirred, his red eyes flashing as he turned to look at the flame and then at his master.

She brought the pitcher of water to bear, washing the blood away from the hair and head.

The words continued to flow, coming up from a place deep inside her, a place she had thought all but gone after the battle, after the snows...after Stannis and his daughter...

No. Best not to think of that.

She thought back to the words she had learned so long ago. Squaring her shoulders, she slowly brought her hands to rest on his chest and took a breath.

A breath which caught in her throat as she saw his eyes snap open, saw the chest raise and the mouth open, a horribly piercing gasp echoing through the room.

She was so shocked by the movement that it took her a moment to realise that his hands, so still an instant before, had shot up and in the blink of an eye wrapped around her wrists, pushing her away from the body...away from _Lord Commander Snow_.

The shocked gasp and muffled curses from the other men in the room brought Melisandre back to the present. The vice-like grip on her wrists was brutally strong and surprisingly painful, as Jon sat up, twisting his body as he did so.

He twisted so far that he fell off the table, landing on the balls of his feet with his head tucked to his chest, arms extended to maintain the clasp on her wrists. The sudden movement jerked her arms and she was kneeling in front of him before she quite knew what was happening.

"Where did you go. What did you _see?_ " she whispered, hoping that he still understood her. Beric Dondarrion had been able to speak and remember his past lives, however she remembered him saying he became less and less each time. Thoros, she remembered with a start, had used a completely different ritual to ask the Lord to bring Dondarrion back...

"Everything."

The whisper was almost too faint to hear, dropping from the lips of the man in front of her. He continued to take in great breaths that racked his entire body. She could feel his skin against hers...she could feel how cold his fingers were. But then, she vaguely thought, he was stark naked in a cold room in Castle Black. In a body that had been dead for over a day. Of course he would be cold.

She waited for him to say something else...but he didn't. The world fell away as she focused on him.

She watched as he slowly lifted his head, his gaze finding hers and holding it. There was something...something about his face...

She gasped as his eyes met hers. They were bleeding - his eyes were bleeding! They had filled up with blood, or there was a cut over his face which had dripped down...

No. Wait. This was not a blood-filled orb, or a smear. His eyes had _changed_. The grey from before had vanished, subsumed in a brilliant red. The pupil at the centre of each eye was unaffected and stared out from its blood-coloured home at her.

She finally broke the gaze and averted her eyes from that piercing look...only to have find herself staring at another set of red eyes.

Ghost had padded to them, his nose twitching as he came close to his master.

Melisandre shuddered as the enormous jaws came closer to her, turning back to stare at the man in front of her. Her other senses started working again - she could feel the hot breath from the direwolf washing over her skin. Hear the pants from both the wolf and, more harshly, the man in front of her.

As the noise came back into the world, she could hear Davos and Edd scrambling towards them, a heavy fur cloak in the hands of the older man, ready to wrap up the Lord Commander in the vestments of the living.

She forced herself to glance at his eyes again and started, for they were now the normal dark grey colour.

She searched his gaze, moving from one eye to another, looking in vain for the redness she had seen before. The exact same colour, she now realised, of Ghost's eyes.

Davos swarmed around her, pulling Jon to his feet and wrapping him in a cloak. At his touch, Jon finally let go of her wrists and she pulled her arms back and massaged her wrists. Her incredibly bruised and aching wrists.

"Fuck me with the Lord of Bones," rasped Tormund.

"What do you remember?" asked Davos.

Jon paused. The strain on his face was palpable.

"...They stabbed me. Olly...he put a knife in my heart." he muttered.

Davos and Edd looked at each other. _Well, that settles that question._ she thought.

"I shouldn't be here," Jon continued, eyes flitting everywhere at once.

"The Lady brought you back," announced Davos, his tone somewhere between fear and adoration.

Those eyes flicked up to hers, darting around her face. They dipped to follow her body but, strangely, they didn't look how the eyes of men usually looked at her. They would normally trace her hips, her sex, her neck, her lips, her bust...but here, now, there was no lingering or tracing.

Considering what he'd just been through, she thought nothing of it. Who knew how he had changed after passing beyond this life...and back.

"Your eyes are still grey. Are you still you in there?" asked Edd.

"...I think so," answered Jon, his voice louder than before. "Hold off on burning my body for now."

"That's funny," said Edd. He paused. "Are you _sure_ that's still you in there?"

Tormund guffawed. "He's not trying to kill us; his eyes aren't that fucking blue and his cock's still the same fingertip as before. It's him all right."

Edd and Davos chuckled darkly as all of them moved in and wrapped Jon in an embrace.

Jon smiled. It was a hesitant thing, but it was recognisable as a smile.

No one looked to Melisandre as she backed away from the reunion, ending up next to the flames into which she had thrown the hair as part of the ritual.

The ritual.

_The ritual._

The ritual that she had prepared...but not enacted.

Sweat broke out on her brow as she flashed back over the events of the last few minutes. She had washed his body, cut his hair and shaved his beard. The hairs had gone into the fire, the sparks and flames had burned unnaturally brightly and the shadows weakened - all indications that the Lord was listening. She had begun speaking the words to gain the Lords attention....but she had never actually finished them, nor spoken of her actual request to bring the Lord Commander back...nor had she administered the last kiss as Thoros had to Dondarrion.

No.

The ritual had not happened.

But. _But._

Jon Snow had been revived.

_The Lady brought you back._

No...she hadn't. Nor....she realised with growing horror....had the Lord of Light.

_No._

No, surely not. There was no mention of this! No hint in all of the lore of Asshai! None! The servants of the Lord of Darkness were animated, yes, but not alive! Only the Lord of Light could infuse the body with the fire of life!

Lost in her panic, gaze held by the flames as she desperately searched for an answer, she barely heard Davos as he came to stand in front of her.

"Thank you, my lady. You showed me that miracles really do exist. Thank you, for bringing him back to us."

Melisandre remained staring into the flames.

Davos gave her a brisk nod, obviously wanting to leave her to what he thought were her meditations. Edd has already opened the door and Davos and Tormund flanked Jon Snow as he started to take stumbling steps towards the doorway and the rest of Castle Black.

No one heard her soft, terrified whisper.

"...I didn't. Someone else did."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Janina for her help / coaching / standover tactics with this. It definitely wouldn't be what it is without you.
> 
> Also, please note that I updated Chapter 1 to have POV headers, as well as some reworking of the final paragraphs to make the narrative flow a little more smoothly, so you might wish to revisit it.

**Tormund**

  


Tormund felt the eyes on them as soon as the door closed behind them. The sounds in the yard died away as heads turned in their direction.

He wasn't sure who looked more stunned, the crow cunts or the Free Folk.

The arm slung around his shoulders twitched in time with the the harsh breathing next to him. That meant that Jon Snow was still with them, not...wherever the fuck he had gone.

It wasn't right. Dead was dead - but if the Night King and White Walkers could bring ice and snow and raise the dead with their fucking bare hands, why couldn't some red witch call out to her god and have something like this happen too? At least Jon Snow was breathing and talking and wasn't trying to tear their faces off. And that was good enough for now.

The silence was a living thing now, spreading out across the yard and bringing all activity to a crashing halt.

They started down the stairs - Davos leading, followed by Tormund and Jon Snow, with the long faced Dolorous Edd behind them, his eyes sweeping the yard looking for threats.

_After what happened the last time Jon Snow was in this yard that's a good idea._

The men gathered silently at the foot of the stairway, pressing in to see with their own eyes the Lord Commander, whose blood still stained a patch of the snow to one side.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and a pathway appeared as if by magic, men stepping back far enough to let them pass but still close enough to see the face of Jon Snow.

A face that was still staring at the ground, eyes gazing at nothing.

Until a fearful curse split the air.

"By the Seven, what the fuck is this?!"

Jon Snow snapped his head up and took in the crowd facing him. His eyes widened and his entire body tensed, the arm around Tormund's shoulder tensing and nearly pulling him off balance.

"He's dead! We saw the body, the blood! He shouldn't be up and moving! We should burn the body! Burn it! What have you done you stupid fuck-"

Two fists descended. The hysterical man - a crow, Tormund noted - doubled up in agony. The men on either side of him - one a man of the Free Folk, the other a crow - drew their arms back for another blow, then paused. Satisfied that the man wasn't going to keep talking, they nodded at each other and turned back to face the front. 

Tormund smirked beneath his beard. He never thought he'd see one of the Free Folk and a crow move together. Maybe Jon Snow did know something after all.

They started to walk through the crowd, not actually heading anywhere but showing everyone the Lord Commander. More importantly, the sound of his harsh breathing, the way his eyes...his _grey eyes_ were looking around, not burning blue fire gazing coldly like the stare of the dead.

The crowd in front of them began to murmur as Jon began to walk more steadily, hands reaching out to touch him in passing, curling away as if afraid he would turn out to be deathly cold like the White Walkers.

One hand did not curl away. Though it wasn't fair to call it a hand, since it was the size of a fucking horse. Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun stood at the edge of the crowd, staring over the heads of the men clustered around his legs like children. His gaze, Tormund noticed, was fixed on Jon Snow's face...with an expression that he had never quite seen on a giant before.

"Lar dok gam feg tar. Ook bar hik na FO!"

The rumbling voice of Wun Wun cut through the murmuring of the crowd like hot piss through snow, causing every man to turn at stare. Including Jon Snow, whose head whipped up to gaze at the giant's face.

Tormund had learned to speak the Old Tongue before he had killed his first man, but he had never heard a phrase like this. Giants spoke their own form of the Tongue - the joke (never repeated too loudly or anywhere it might be overheard) was that their brains hadn't grown with the rest of them and so they couldn't spare too much for speaking.

But this...this wasn't the normal Mag Nuk that he'd tried to follow when Mance had rallied the giants to his side. This wasn't any Old Tongue that Tormund was familiar with at all.

"Muh bor kam rol mir gah kol. Kap tolk lork wal."

Tormund froze as he heard the words come from his left.

From Jon Snow.

Jon Snow who might be descended from the First Men like Tormund was, but who didn't speak the Old Tongue...and who _definitely_ didn't speak it to giants.

_What the fuck?_

Wun Wun's lips pulled back into a snarl, causing the men next to him to scatter in fear of getting crushed. He took one enormous step, then another, drawing closer to Tormund, Jon and Davos. Tormund didn't know what the fuck the big bugger was intending to do but he was acutely aware that Wun Wun was flexing his hands...and that they were all uncomfortably close to the blood stain on the wall where that crow had been flung after daring to shoot Wun Wun when they stormed Castle Black.

There was a pause.

An almighty thud split the air as the giant took to a knee in front of them, his eyes fixed on Jon Snow's face. The air chilled as Tormund took in the uncharacteristically wide-eyed look on Wun Wun's face as he reached out a single finger - a finger that Tormund knew was capable of ripping mens heads from their bodies - and _gently_ touched Jon Snow's forehead.

Jon stiffened, pulling his arms from around the shoulders of Tormund and Davos and stood, squarely facing Wun Wun.

Tormund turned to look at the face of Jon Snow and nearly shat himself. The face of the man he had come to know, that face that he'd seen looking embarrassed, cold, angry, earnest, merciful...that face had always been the same. Only now it may as well have been one of the faces carved into the weirwood by the Children, stern and secret. And now it had red eyes instead of grey. Not red-coloured, or red-tinged, or even the kissed by fire red hair Tormund himself had. Blood-red, solid red eyes that gazed at Wun Wun, unblinking and heavy with meaning.

Then they blinked and they were as grey as ever. The enormous finger withdrew and Tormund realised that he was wrong. Wun Wun was not snarling.

He was _smiling._

_Well fuck me ***sideways*** with the Lord of Bones._

  


*******

  


**Tormund**

  


After the....whatever the fuck happened in the yard, they made their way to the hall. Jon Snow walking unaided now, slowly at first, then picking up his stride as he kept looking every which way, gaze moving from the walls to the blood stains to the eyes of the men who had turned as one to follow his path. Those eyes never stopped moving, never stopped watching.

_Like he was expecting an ambush...or seeing it for the first time._

Tormund shook himself. This was some dark fucking shit that Jon Snow had been through. Who knew what was right and what wasn't when you've been dead for a night and a day?

Still...what the fuck was that business with the eyes and Wun Wun? The red witch and her god might have brought Jon Snow back to them but this was the same Lord of Light and red witch who had burned Mance at the stake. Stannis Baratheon had gone on about how it was because Mance hadn't knelt to him but it wasn't Stannis who had set Mance on fire, it was that red cunt and her torch and foreign words.

Stupid, brave, proud Mance. He didn't kneel, he didn't bend and they were all worse off for it. How many had died because he didn't swallow his pride? Dead was dead. You couldn't save your followers from the grave.

_Not unless your name was Jon Snow, maybe._

"What was that out there?" Edd broke the silence with the question that was on all of their minds.

Jon looked blankly at him.

"What you said to Wun Wun. When we were at Hardhome I didn't think he could speak - and then when he did I nearly shat myself. I definitely didn't know what he was saying....so how did you speak to him?"

Jon looked at Edd like he had lost his mind.

"I spoke to _Wun Wun?_ "

Tormund frowned. "You don't remember?"

Jon shook his head. "I saw Banks get clobbered when he started to mouth off..."

Tormund and Edd smirked.

"...and I saw Wun Wun looking at me but I don't remember speaking to him."

They all blinked.

"Uh...Jon...you _did_ speak to him." ventured Edd. "It sounded like he asked you a question and you answered it."

Tormund nodded. "He spoke more than I've heard him speak in all the time I knew him. And you answered - and it didn't sound like Mag Nuk."

"Mag Nuk?" queried Davos.

"What the giants call the Old Tongue. But theirs is a more simple speech. But what you and he said - that sounded like the **real** Old Tongue."

"But..." began Jon. "But I've never learned the Old Tongue."

"Not even when you were a boy at Winterfell?" This from Edd.

Jon snorted. "I was lucky to have my letters, history and the training yard. Lady Stark was always very clear that a bastard had no place alongside the trueborn heirs. She was always terrified that I would rise up against my brother and fight him for the Lordship of Winterfell. If it wasn't for Father I'd have been in the stables until I left for the Wall."

Davos shifted in his seat. "But you did have lessons?"

"Aye. But only the Common Tongue and what High Valyrian that Maester Luwin knew."

"So how the fuck did you get Wun Wun to speak to you then?"

"I don't know!"

Tormund leaned forward. "It wasn't just speaking, you know. He _knelt_ before you."

Jon Snow reared back, his eyes wide. "He _what?_ "

"Aye. He knelt in front of a crow. A giant of the Free Folk who...he never even fucking knelt to _Mance._ But he took a knee in front of you and reached out with his finger - a finger that could fuck a horse - and tapped you on your forehead with this huge fucking smile on his face."

Jon Snow stared at Tormund.

"And that's not the weirdest thing that happened. I looked at you and I could have sworn to the Old Gods - and the Seven and that fucking fire god of yours - that your eyes were red."

"Red." Now Jon Snow sounded like he thought _Tormund_ was crazy. "My eyes were red. From the incense?"

"Not smoke, you dumb fuck. Red like blood. Like you had two big fucking bloody holes in your face all filled with blood. And then I looked again and you were back to your usual broody grey-eyed woman-haired self."

Not even the usual dig at Jon Snow's hair got a reaction this time.

The silence thickened around them as they all thought on this weirdest of weird shit that was happening.

"We should talk to the Red Woman about this. But you must be hungry," Davos's voice broke in on all their thoughts. Jon Snow turned his head towards the older man, eyes gazing for an instant right through him before he seemed to shake himself awake.

"Aye. Food. Gods, I'm starving."

"Well, you have been dead for a night and a day. That'd give any fucker an appetite," grunted Tormund, pleased to see Jon's lips draw up in a wry smile. He'd sorely missed that smile - not that he'd ever tell the stupid bastard that, of course. 

The steward was called for and in due course came towards them with the same thin soup and shitty bread that they'd fed Tormund when he was in the cells. He found himself pitying the Crows - the Free Folk may not have been south of the Wall long and were still settling into the lands of the Gift, but even they managed to eat better than the men of the Night's Watch.

_Amazing that they fought us for so long. If the fucking White Walkers had just stayed North a few more years the Watch would have starved._

He winced sympathetically as the Lord Commander made a face and tried manfully to down a few spoons.

"Looks like the red witch couldn't magic you a man's stomach, Jon Snow," he guffawed. "Even the White Walkers wouldn't eat this horse piss."

The chuckles from around the table went a long way to relieving the tension that had been building ever since Jon Snow had opened his eyes once more. Dolorous Edd even cracked what he probably thought was a smile but looked more like he had a painful shit.

"So...." came the voice of Davos as the Onion Knight turned his head to face the others. "What happens next?"

They all watched Jon as he chewed his bread and waited for him to speak.

They waited...and waited. Far past the time when he had swallowed he sat there, eyes staring at the table.

"I can't stay here."

The words were barely a whisper but Tormund felt like he'd been stabbed with that bloody bastard sword.

"I mean it. I can't stay at the place that my own brothers killed me," Jon went on, his right hand flexing around an imaginary sword hilt.

"The White Walkers are still out there. You're the Lord Commander," bit out Edd, his face twisted with foreboding. "You're the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. The shield that guards the realm of men-"

"Aye and the men that made up that shield fucking stabbed me to death! How can I stay here when my own brothers killed me! Who would follow my orders?"

Edd didn't hesitate. "I would."

"So would I," came from Ser Davos.

They looked at Tormund expectantly. "I wouldn't obey your orders if you were the last fucking man alive, Jon Snow. But I would listen to you. You know what's right."

Jon shook his head. "It's not enough. I can't have this hanging over every decision I make."

Edd snapped his fingers. "Hanging! Execute the mutineer scum who killed their Lord Commander. That'll get things moving again."

Jon's hand was now clenched into a fist so tight that Tormund swore he could hear the glove tearing.

"Well. Before I leave, I can at least make sure that justice is done."

Davos threw a concerned look at Edd. "Forgive me Lord Commander but maybe-"

Jon cut him off. "No. I am not the Lord Commander. I stopped being the Lord Commander when I died. My watch was until death. I died. My watch has ended."

_Well, fuck. We didn't bring him back just so he could leave. He might feel different after those oathbreaker fuckers are dead..._

Deep in his thoughts, Tormund nearly missed Davos's reply.

"If you aren't the Lord Commander then you'll just be a butcher like Ilyn Payne."

It looked like Jon had been stabbed again. His eyes went wide and his face whitened.

The muted _pop_ of the seam on his glove was unnaturally loud in the silence.

"....Aye. We'll make it my last act, then."

  


*******

  


**Edd**

  


After they had managed to finish lunch and not throw it right back up, they made their way down to the cells. The mutineers had been confined to the blocks for the past day and knew nothing of what had happened up above. When Edd had pointed this out to the others as they walked, Tormund had instantly dropped back a few steps, seizing Jon's arm as he did so.

"You go on," he said as he waved his hand impatiently. "You go and talk to those backstabbing fuckers and me and the Lord Of Light here will come by and scare the shit of them."

Edd couldn't help the chuckle that snuck out of his mouth.

"Careful, Dolorous Edd," murmured Tormund. "We might have to find you a new name if you laugh too much...and I don't think Rabbit-Cocked Edd has the same ring to it."

Edd threw a glare at the wildling leader but with no real heat to it. "Oh and of course you'd know all about rabbit cocks wouldn't you?"

Tormund smiled, punching the other on the shoulder lightly. Lightly for him perhaps but it still knocked Edd to the side. _Fucking bear-man._

"Come on then, Ser Knight," muttered Edd as he and Davos strode forward, making for the lower bank of cells, the ones where the torches were replaced only when someone bothered to care, rather than every day like the upper level. If you were down here, you were down here to be forgotten.

Davos had dropped back to walk two steps behind Edd as they made their way to the far cells. The torches they carried lit the dank black iron bars and the faces of the men standing behind it. Some were sleeping on the floor, some sitting, some pacing. All looked hungrily at the approaching light...all faces fell when they saw it was Edd.

Edd stopped, surveying the prisoners as he heard Davos halt behind him. Bowen Marsh was sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth muttering _"for the Watch"_ to himself over and over. Othell Yarwyck was pacing back and forth, stepping around and over the other forms sprawled out on the stone floor.

There was a rustle of movement as Alliser Thorne made his way to the front of the cage. Olly, Edd noted absently, was already there in the corner, his face set in the familiar mask of pinched hatred that the boy had worn ever since the wild-....the _Free Folk_ had been allowed through the Wall.

"So you've finally grown the balls to come down here and see us," sneered Thorne. "Don't tell me they elected _you_ the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch? Or did you get down and suck enough wildling cock to make sure they'd kill anyone who challenged you?"

Edd gazed back at the man in front of him. "I'm not the Lord Commander."

Marsh snorted from the corner. "Fucking good thing too. Too close to that traitor bastard you are. You're as much of a traitor as he was, letting those filthy wildlings through the Wall."

"So who's in charge?" asked Thorne, stepping right up to the bars. "Who's following in the footsteps of the illustrious Lord Snow?"

Edd cocked his head. "The Lord Commander is in charge, Ser Alliser. I thought even you would understand that."

Thorne shook his head. "Seven save us from halfwits. Who's the fucking Lord Commander? I demand to speak to him."

Tormund loomed out of the shadows. "The Crow Lord Commander isn't too keen on talking to you, you Southern cunt. Something about not wasting his time with oathbreakers and backstabbers."

Muffled curses split the air as the men in the cage stared at the raider who had appeared deep in the heart of the castle.

"So you really have invited the Wildlings into the Watch," spat Thorne. "You allowed rapists, murderers and bear-fuckers to join the ancient order of the Night's Watch? You allowed-"

"No more than you did when you brought in new recruits from the dregs of the Seven Kingdoms," came a voice out of the shadows.

Edd started. That voice...that voice was not the voice of Jon Snow. He'd never heard it before - and never wanted to hear it again. For damn sure he didn't want to hear it directed at him.

"The Night's Watch has stood for eight thousand years and has survived war, the Thirteenth Lord Commander and his Night's Queen, the Andal invasion, the Hundred Kingdoms, the Targaryen Conquest, The Dance of Dragons, The Blackfyre Rebellions, The War of Ninepenny Kings, Robert's Rebellion and even the Mutiny of Short-sighted Fuckwits Led By Alliser Thorne. It will face further trials and will still be standing at the end."

Thorne's face went slack, ashen even in the flickering torchlight. Licking his lips the former First Ranger recoiled a step from the bars.

"Who... _who the fuck said that?_ "

Edd could almost sympathise with Thorne. That voice sounded like the Doom of Valyria, like the Gods pronouncing judgement. It reached past the ears, wrapping icy claws around the heart and _squeezed._ It made him want to run, throw up and shit himself all at once. 

And if that's how it made him feel, what was it doing to those bastards in the cell? 

The men in the cell scrambled to their feet and backed away from the bars, pressing against the far wall with terrified eyes staring sightlessly into the blackness beyond the light of the torch. Only Thorne stood at the front of the cell, eyes flaring as his hands clenched around the bars. Bravery or stupidity, it was hard to tell what kept him there but Edd could see his throat move as Thorne repeatedly swallowed to try and get his mouth moving. 

_**Step.**_

_**Step.**_

_**Step.**_

Edd knew that Jon was the same size as he was before he'd died but the footsteps approaching sounded like they were made by someone the size of Wun Wun. The thuds echoed through the darkness, slowly getting closer and closer. 

Thorne recoiled, sucking in his breath sharply as the face of Jon Snow emerged from the darkness. The terrified shouts and cries of the men behind him were instant and loud, the disbelieving expressions on their faces warring with raw fear and loathing. 

" _What in the name of the Seven is this?!_ " gasped Thorne, his eyes flickering over the face of the man he had stabbed. 

Edd smiled wolfishly. "This is the Lord Commander." 

He saw Jon open his mouth but Thorne spoke first. 

"He's dead! He's dead! We killed him for the Watch, for those fucking wildling scum and _he's dead!_ What the fuck...what the fuck have you _done?_ " 

Suddenly, Jon was right up against the bars, his eyes never leaving Thorne's face. 

"What have _they_ done? What have _you_ done? You pledged your life and honour to the Night's Watch. You swore an oath to be the shield that guards the realms of men. You know what's out there. You know that the dead march. You took the hand of Jafer to King's Landing and yet you still chose the stupid fight." 

The icy tones echoed unnaturally around them, making the cells feel much much larger than they actually were. The air rushed around them, the hissing rising underneath Jon's words. Edd could feel the wind on his cheek- 

_A wind? Underground? What the fuck?_

He glanced at Tormund. The wildling leader was hard to read at the best of times but Edd could see his slightly wider eyes and shifting stance as the wind steadily built in its intensity. Edd glanced back down the corridor and noted that the torches were flickering and wavering...but only around them. The torches at the far end, by the stairs, were burning steadily. 

Slowly, reluctantly, Edd turned his eyes back to Jon Snow. He could see the Lord Commander's hair lifting and starting to separate as the wind continued to pick up strength. 

Edd swallowed. He looked back at Tormund who had come to the same realisation - the wind was not coming from the corridor, but it was coming _from Jon Snow._

"You chose to ignore the real enemy, the real war," continued Jon, not appearing to notice the gusts that were coming from his body. "You let your hatred and tradition blind you to the fact-" 

"THEY KILLED MY PARENTS! THEY DESERVED TO DIE! ALL OF THEM!" 

The shout cut through the eerie voice and, for a wonder, the wind died down as Jon's head turned to face Olly. The boy glared out from the cells, his face contorted with hatred and rage that looked all too familiar - and yet so _wrong_ \- on a boy his age. 

"They came to our village and killed everyone...your Wildling bitch killed my father and that big scarred bastard killed AND ATE MY MOTHER." 

Jon didn't flinch as he gazed at Olly. To his credit, Olly didn't flinch either - fury kept him upright when men three times his age were cowering at the back of the cell. 

_Or more likely it's blinding him to...whatever the fuck is happening_

"Aye," Jon exhaled. His voice sounded more like his own now and the otherworldly wind had died away. "Aye, they killed your village. Ygritte killed your father and..." he glanced at Tormund inquiringly. 

"Styr, Magnar of Thenn," Tormund answered promptly. 

_So for all his swagger and not obeying even if he were the last man alive, he's scared of whatever the fuck is going on with our newly-risen Lord Commander._

Jon nodded. "And Styr killed your mother. And ate her." 

He grimaced, shoulders slumping as he looked down at the floor. 

For a moment, there was silence broken only by the breathing and quiet whimpers coming from the cage. 

Jon's head lifted again as he straightened, shoulders squared as he seemed to fill himself up with the same.... _fury_ that he had demonstrated earlier. 

"But you killed Ygritte, you shot her in the heart. And I killed Styr. I put a hammer through his skull. Blood calls out for blood and your vengeance is satisfied." 

"But _he_ still lives!" snarled Olly as he gestured at Tormund. "That red-haired _monster_ is still breathing and all my friends and family are dead!" 

The wildling, to his credit, did not flinch. He did not speak, did not try to defend himself, did not turn away from the accusation in the voice of the boy. His face, however, softened. Not much, but it definitely softened. 

Olly took another breath. "What about Mole's Town? They killed everyone there, villagers and black brothers alike! They-" 

A tortured shriek of metal cut him off. 

Edd's gaze flickered down to Jon's hands, drawn by that grating sound. He saw...he saw....he wasn't sure why he was still so surprised given all this otherworldly shit, but he was...he saw that the Jon had _pulled the cell bars apart._

Pulled apart. The castle-forged steel of the cell bars. 

With his bare hands. 

This, more than anything, really drove home the fact that something was _wrong._

The icy voice - _the Voice of Winter_ Edd thought with a start - was back. As he looked back up at Jon's face, he froze. 

Now he knew what Tormund had meant. Now he could see the solid, blood-red eyes staring out from that face that he knew very well...but which was now the face of a complete stranger. 

"They killed everyone. And we killed them. And Stannis' men killed them. And those who fled were hunted down and slaughtered." 

He took a breath and Edd could hear the sighing of the trees, the howling of wolves and the scream of the wind at the top of the Wall in that sigh. 

"And _none of that matters anymore._ There is only one battle that truly matters and that's the one against the dead. The White Walkers don't care who killed who or who's getting revenge, they'll raise everyone and add to their army! They don't care! They'll just kill us all!" 

The Lord Commander was shouting now, the wind blowing so strongly that it was hard to keep looking at him. The Voice of Winter now sounded like many voices all shrieking and whispering at the same time yet perfectly understandable. 

"There is _no more time_ to bicker! There is no time to avenge old wounds _or to hold on to them!_ There is just the battle and if we're all _very, very lucky_ we might have a slim chance to _not_ end up as wights fighting to turn all of Westeros into a graveyard! _WINTER IS COMING!!_ " 

Torches were flickering out as the gale swept around them, yet the blood-red eyes gleamed brightly in the darkness, glaring at the now thoroughly terrified occupants of the cage. 

"NO MORE! The Night's Watch is the shield that guards _the realm of men._ Not the North, not the Seven fucking Kingdoms, _the realm of men._ The living! Thems that breathe, eat, shit, fight, fuck, laugh, cry, birth and die." 

The wind cut off abruptly. In the sudden silence, the terrified whispers and murmurs were all too clearly heard. 

_"Monster! What kind of monster is that?"_

_"We should have killed all of them, they brought him back!"_

_"Fucking traitor!"_

_"But, what about the White Walk-"_

Alliser Thorne backhanded the last speaker in the face, the crunch of a broken nose cutting off the panicked whisper. 

"If you're going to hang us, hang us. If you're going to set us free, release us. I don't know what kind of foul demon you are or which of the Seven Hells you came from, but take your horseshit to someone else who's listening", he spat. "The Wall has stood for eight thousand years and the Watch has stood with it. It will keep the White Walkers out on the other side of the wall, where the wildling scum should be!" 

Jon had gone still. Eyes back to normal, he gazed at Thorne like he had never seen him before. 

"Hanging, Ser Alliser?" he enquired at last. 

"That's the punishment, bastard. Of course you wouldn't know about punishment, being a traitor's bastard and all-" 

Jon's gloved hand whipped out and closed around Thorne's throat, pulling the older man off his feet and smashing his face up against the bars. 

_Crunch._

"Don't talk about my Lord Father like that, you lizard-loving shit!" he growled. "You fought on the wrong side of that war. You lost." 

Thorne gurgled, feet dangling a good foot off the floor as he struggled to breathe. 

"Go on...do it. Hang us. You'll burn in the Seven Hells for-" 

The rest of the words were cut off as Jon threw Thorne backwards into the men behind him, knocking them all to the floor. 

"Hanging?" asked the Lord Commander again, his words soft like the fall of snow. Soft, yet cold and deadly. "Hanging? Hanging's too good for you, you oathbreaking shits." 

Thorne got to his feet again, pushing Bowen Marsh away as the other offered a hand up. 

"No," continued Jon in that soft, dangerous tone. "I was going to hang you as my last official act of Lord Commander..." his eyes flickered to Davos, "...but maybe we should settle this properly. You have courage, Ser Alliser. Not much, given you lured me out and stabbed me with all these other craven fucks, but some." 

Thorne's lip twisted. "Get on with it." 

"Oh I am," returned Jon. "If you're so sure I'm going to end up in the Seven Hells then perhaps we should let your piss poor excuses for gods decide what's to become of you." 

There was a rustling of uncertainty. Edd glanced at both Tormund and Davos who looked equally nonplussed. 

"Yes," murmured Jon. "For this I think we'll dispense with the hanging and have a Trial of Seven. If you win, you can go free." 

Edd gasped. "Jon..." 

Jon held up his hand. "No, Edd, I'm serious. We'll have a Trial of Seven...well, a Trial of However Many Craven Oathbreakers We Have In The Cells." 

A wolfish smile grew on his face. 

"A Trial of Craven Oathbreakers...against me." 

"Fuck off!" barked Edd at once. " _All_ of them against you?" 

Jon smiled. 

No. 

He bared his teeth in a _snarl._

"It's all right, Edd. It's said that any man who cannot find six men to stand with him is guilty. And I thank you all for what you've done so far but you're all far too important to waste on scum like these. I'm even being generous and giving them more than seven men on their side. Though they can keep it down to seven if they wish to make sure the gods are honoured. They already think I'm guilty and a demon from the Seven Hells so I don't think they'll complain too much about outnumbering me." 

There was almost a look of wonderment on Thorne's bruised and bloodied face. 

"I don't know how you're standing here, bastard," he growled, "but you're obviously even more addled than before you died. We accept. That is presuming we can trust your word." 

Jon looked coolly at him. "Far be it from me to break my word to a craven backstabbing traitor." 

Thorne snarled wordlessly. 

Jon turned to Davos, Tormund and Edd. "You're all my witnesses. If they win, I expect you to honour my bargain." 

Edd felt his lip curl at the thought of honouring a bargain with these scum and by the looks on the faces of the other two, he wasn't alone in thinking- 

"Edd." 

_Seven Hells, that voice..._

Edd shivered as he looked back at his friend...his friend, Lord Commander, bloody terrifying undead _monster_ , whatever the fuck he was... 

The red eyes stared at him. 

"I said, I expect you to honour my bargain." 

Edd nodded. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Davos and Tormund nodding too. Small motions, trying very hard not to be noticed. 

"Yes. Of course." 

No, it definitely wasn't a voice he wanted to have directed at him. 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This has been kicking around in my head for a while. I swore I would actually get around to writing more of The Lady's Justice but this wouldn't quit. I guess it wouldn't be right to *not* have multiple WIPs on the go, eh?
> 
> The trouble with inhaling Jonsa fics is that eventually you're not quite sure if a phrase or concept is from your muse or someone else. If anyone reading this feels like it echoes their work a bit too much, please take it as the sincerest form of flattery. Also, since by definition you are therefore pushing a very special kind of addictive Jonsa crack, damn you.
> 
> Fair warning: the tags will not stay static. More will be added.


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